1981

I live about an hour from Stoneham, Mass., where, in March, the nation welcomed Nancy Kerrigan back from Lillehammer, via Orlando. But while we're close, my wife and I didn't make the trip to see the silvered skating wonder. We didn't go because we're angry: America's Sweetheart and poster child for Orthodontia Anonymous badmouthed Mickey Mouse. She denies ever having said a bad word against the greatest Mmmusculus ever to skitter over this earth's face, but microphones don't lie. Denigrating "corny" parades at Disney World is tantamount to enjoying artichoke heart-and-mouse kabobs, crisped over an open, mesquite-fed fire. Poor Walt must be turning over in his grave. Where's Tonya when you need her? Well, on with this parade.

The answer: Whoosh, grunt, pant, wheeze. Whoosh, grunt, pant, wheeze. The question: what terrifyingly loud sounds can be heard when Bob Hannah is on his Nordic Track? Given Bob's line of work, he's glad that contraption was invented. After peddling chips for Pepsico, non-Olympic hopeful Hannah is now pushing pizza, working with 1,400 Pizza Hut restaurants that stretch from Texas to D.C. to Florida. He, his wife and their three Personal Pans: ages seven, four and one live in Atlanta. Bob maligned his fair city just a bit, saying that little has been done on the new Olympic stadium and athlete villageand there are less than two years to go. But Mayor Maynard Jackson has had thousands of Olympic license plates printed up, and they've sold like hotcakes. Sounds like Georgia's prison population will be a positive force behind these upcoming games.

In his giddy, pepperoni-and-cheese-induced state, Bob also mentioned that Thom Smith works for a Pittsburgh ad agency and hopes to be the Roger Ailes of that steely city. And Kevin Kerin is a doctor working out of the brand-new Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center.

I love calling parents in the evening about 7:30 or 8:00: the dulcet sounds of squeaking children tell me it's bathtime or end-of-dinner time, or bedtime, moments that suggest the word "struggle." When I phoned Paco andSally Spadaro's home in Barrington, R.I., Paco sounded relieved to hear my voice, while Sally harmonized with their two squeakers, ages five and seven. Paco's been working at Brown University for the past ten years, keeping its academic mainframe up-and-running, while Sally's just started her own business, Land Net, which does geographical analyses. She has also been busy with a variety of other ventures: lobbying the state legislature on transportation and environmental issues, mediation work, and even a brief stint with a non-profit organization trying to ban new billboards in our nation's smallest state. I'm glad someone's trying to work with R.I.'s Sicilian-influenced government: even while writing this paragraph, I kept my back to the wall and reverently whistled the theme from The Godfather.

Call. Write. Fax. E-mail. Come over to my apartment, even: I'll ply you with the Pizza Hut gift certificates Bob sent me so that he could be, finally, in this column. And don't forget to mail your donation to the Alumni Fund. While Chris Niehaus's letter to our class was wonderfully melodramatic "without these funds, the College might be forced to... shutter the Hood Museum..."—there's no denying that our bucks help. I think Chris will shutter YOUR place if you don't. Thanks. See you in a few months.

Tabor Academy, Marion, MA 02738-1599; 14 Woodland Drive, Darien, CT 06820